A black feather dances its way to wooden floors
I am buried in my sheets and unwilling to acknowledge you
Stubborn Daemon, you both bring and maculate dreams of her
Her face is lost somewhere between lucid and wake
She is drowning evermore.
Black dresses rivet when the wind blows.
Drops are gliding down your cheekbones.
This corpse, it slumps its way to Hades.
A man stumbles in from the heat of a winter.
A spirit to quell his own glistening like ocean-light
Spills from a bloody lower lip
In remembrance of a lover’s taste.
I am smelling your warmth,
Buried in your neck,
Veiled in aureate hair.
Under the crape myrtle
An oddity you are to me darling
So I kept a picture of your face
What an expression you did make
The soul of every laborer of grace